Death by Final Exams

Another semester, another final exam week that takes me completely by surprise. It’s like I never expect that the lessons are actually leading up to something. I guess I just thought they’d drop off anticlimactically and then we could all go home.

I screwed myself over just a tad by not reading half the books for one of my classes. (In my defense, I was busy reading the books for other classes, and Super Mario Sunshine wasn’t going to play itself.) This particular final exam is the last one I have to take, so I’m going to spend this entire week power-reading one book a day. It’s exactly the kind of crazy, desperate plan you’d only put into action if you were an English major with poor time management skills and a weakness for Super Mario Sunshine.

I bought myself one of those chocolate oranges to reward myself if I ever got through this mess. I then ate it before I’d finished reading anything. I had to. There was a CRAVING. You’re supposed to smack them against a hard surface to break up the chocolate “slices,” though, and I can’t imagine my roommate was very happy to be woken up by a loud BANG at 3 AM, followed by “OH SHIT.” (There was a lot of gusto. Chocolate went everywhere.)

Battle of the Snow

Whenever it snows, I’ll excitedly take a picture and text it to my mom. The part of the state where I go to school doesn’t accrue quite as much snow as I’m used to, so whenever we get a dusting of it, I’m disproportionately excited. She knows this.

snow1

More often than not, however, in response to the above picture my mom will simply text back, no words necessary:

snow3

IT’S NOT A COMPETITION, MOTHER. (Not one that I can win, anyway.) I can’t wait to go home. I’M COMING, SNOW. I have boots that are going to look really good as I trudge through snowy parking lots and spill hot chocolate on things! Don’t melt before I get there!

*Will Ferrell elf scream* SANTAAAA

50 DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS, EVERYBODY.

There are three things I really, really love about this time of year:

  1. Chocolate oranges. I’ve learned over the years to just buy them for myself, wrap them, and then put them under the tree, because my family drops the ball sometimes, and then Christmas is ruined.
  2. Chocolate crinkle cookies. There’s a Mennonite community near where I live that makes the absolute best chocolate crinkle cookies. If I could harness their abilities and make my own, I would do it. But alas.
  3. THOSE PILLSBURY SUGAR COOKIES. I AM ALREADY DROOLING.

So basically, everything I love about the impending holiday season revolves around food.

My Essay was a Monumental Failure

I have a meeting with my professor in twenty minutes. I’m so, so nervous. I haven’t been able to do a single productive thing all day, because I keep glancing at the clock and thinking, “Holy MOTHER of GOD, SEVEN HOURS UNTIL I MEET WITH HIM, WHAT ON EARTH AM I GOING TO DO?”

He’s intimidating. That’s all there is to it. I got my essay back a few days ago, and he hated it with a fervent passion. He took his red pen and destroyed it, slashing his way through every last paragraph. He wrote “unclear” and “vague” so many times I think they lost their meaning. Somewhere in there he just put, “You no longer seem to understand the prompt,” then he apparently gave up on the last two pages and didn’t write anything but a desperately unhappy question mark. Finally, at the end, he simply wrote, “This was NOT your best effort of the term.” Not underlined twice. Which is unfortunate, because (and this is so demoralizing to admit) I actually worked really hard on this paper. Like really, REALLY hard. I worked harder on this paper than I did the last one, at any rate, and on that one he wrote, “This has real potential.”

I can’t read your mind, dude! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

On the plus side… TOMORROW IS DECEMBER.

So close… yet so far…

If you’ve ever wanted to watch a girl’s downward spiral into insanity, behold the following example.

When my friend posted on my wall, “There’s Christmas music on the radio! It makes me think of you!”, I simply liked it and went about my day. When another friend texted to say, “I heard Christmas carols while I was shopping, and it reminded me of you,” I texted back a smiley face. But when my dad called to say, “There’s Christmas music on the radio, and you’ll never guess who I thought of…”, I had reached my breaking point. I took his perfectly nice conversational opener and turned it into a psychotic trigger; I shouted, “OH MY GOD!” and collapsed into a puddle of my own self-inflicted misery.

Ten days until December. Five until my No Christmas Carols Before Thanksgiving ban is OVER. I can do this. I can do this.

Being sick, awkward encounters of the “roommate’s ex-boyfriend” variety, and The Hunger Games

Hoo boy. That title was a mouthful. But I feel so icky and not creative. I’m constantly blowing my nose. This was a problem in class, because I managed to get the desk nobody ever wants—the one that’s deeply entrenched in the jungle of other haphazardly placed desks, so you have to climb over six people every time you want a Kleenex.

My roommate put up our Christmas lights, and they look AH-MAZING. Her ex-boyfriend visited this weekend, and within hours of meeting me he apparently felt comfortable enough in our relationship where he could just strip off his pants with zero weirdness whatsoever.

Also? The movie trailer for “The Hunger Games” is out, and it looks AWESOME.

(Seventeen days until December! WOOHOO!)

When microwaves are aflame, we figure out what I truly value in life.

Last night some of my hall mates accidentally set their microwave on fire. I could tell it was them because I heard variations of the phrase “OH MY GOD, WHAT HAVE WE DONE” right before the alarm started blaring and a disembodied voice instructed us to evacuate immediately.

I would not be the right person for any sort of disaster. I was looking around frantically, thinking, “ChapStick—Fig Newtons—retainer case,” instead of, I don’t know, “Sweatshirt—cell phone—purse containing money and other vital necessities.” I at least had the presence of mind to grab my room key, but my most pressing worry (which I shouted at anyone who would listen as we congregated out in the street) was “I WAS WATCHING THE BIG BANG THEORY AND I LEFT MEGAVIDEO RUNNING AND NOW I’M GONNA HIT THE 72-MINUTE LIMIT, OH DEAR GOD NO!”

I put two dollars in the No Christmas Carols Before Thanksgiving Jar, because a) I watched this really catchy Kohl’s Christmas advertisement online, and it was so catchy I played it again, and b) I listened to Justin Bieber’s “Mistletoe,” which I don’t really consider a Christmas carol per se, but I had to penalize myself for enjoying it.

Twenty-one days until December!